His head was killing him the next morning, he had definitely gotten one too many Runeshine shots.

What made matters worse was that he found horse hair all over his clothes. The stableboy who brought him Keldi had refused to tack her up. It was somewhat fair since he had sold all the tack the last time, but it wasn't like the King was too poor to buy a new damn saddle!

Greedy bastard.

Laid back on the horse, eyes closed, he allowed the stubborn mare to lead the way. The morning sun kissed his skin, the horse's smooth movements and the warmth of the sun almost lulling him back to sleep.

However, his tranquility was interrupted when the horse suddenly stopped, and someone coughed to get his attention.

Mirk reluctantly cracked open a tired eye, almost regretting it when he realized that the familiar face of the venerable butler, Galahad, was there to greet him. Even the horse seemed to shoot him a disapproving look. Mirk sighed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the already throbbing headache, he threw his leg over the horse and slid down smoothly.

 He hadn't even gotten both feet on the ground when Keldi was already making her way towards the stables. A wave of pain shot up his leg. 

"You're late." the butler frowned, looking displeased as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Better late than never, what gods awful job do I tackle today?" he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

He wasn't the most pleasant company when nursing a hangover.

Before Galahad could even open his mouth, a voice he knew all too well reached them from the two open front doors.

"He's with me today Galahad, you need not to worry. I'm afraid I wasn't quite clear with my rules the last time."

He straightened his back immediately when the Fae Lord joined them on the front steps, silver eyes cold with disapproval. Mirk averted his gaze, looking at the peculiar rose bush instead.

"Very well, I shall inform Theodore." the butler bowed and hurried off, leaving Mirk to face the angry lion alone.

Well, he never imagined this would be the way he died.

"Nice morning, eh?" he chuckled awkwardly as the fae merely raised an eyebrow. His gaze briefly lingered on the bruise on the side of Mirk's face. 

"Come, there's a lot to do." he said, not bothering to answer. The air around him seemed to cackle with irritation, although his face hid it well.

Mirk waited until he was a step of two ahead before following. Razaël halted, looking over his shoulder expectantly until Mirk stood right next to him. Only then did he continue heading upstairs.

It was as though he demanded Mirk to walk next to him, the silence never spoke so loudly.

He bit down on his lip, his stab wound slightly bothering him when they climbed the grandiose stairs.

They didn't stop on second or third floor. But on fourth.

Mirk found himself deeply engrossed in his own pain, only to be abruptly startled by a question that cut through the cocoon of his thoughts.

"What?" he responded dumbfoundedly, looking up at the scrutinizing fae lord.

"Have you not had any breakfast today?"

He asked again, stopping before an old wooden door before pushing it open and gesturing for him to go in.

The question jolted Mirk, making him confess, "Uh, no, didn't feel like it," conveniently leaving out the part where he had emptied his stomach as soon as he woke up.

"Rough night?" Razaël inquired, following him in and moving towards a comfortable looking chair behind a large oak table.

The office was spacious, the sun shining in from the open door of a balcony. Two large, delicate curtains danced in the gentle breeze.. There was a fireplace near the left wall, this one looking plain compared to the open feline mouth in the dining room. The right wall was completely covered with book cases from ceiling to floor, scrolls and books of every kind and color adorning the black bookcases.

A cherry red leather couch was near the fireplace with a small table next to it stacked with letters. The floorboards were dark as well, in fact, the office seemed to breathe intimacy with honey dark brown and cherry reds. 

However, the most surprising aspect was the overflow of plants in the room. Some of them Mirk had never even seen and he had spend a lot of time in the forest.

"Come, sit and make yourself comfortable." Razaël said, grabbing a piece of paper and his quill to scribble something down.

Mirk approached the couch hesitantly, noticing a colossal raven perched on Razaël's chair, its dark, beady eyes fixed on him.

"Nice pet." the scribbling stopped and Mirk felt his heart drop.

"Not a pet, but a friend." he said calmly, sliding his fingers down the midnight feathers and holding the letter out to the bird. The raven let out a gurgling croak and snapped the letter out of his hands.

"Be a dear and give it to Freydis." not a second later, the bird rose into the air and flew out out of the open balcony doors. The sheer size of the bird in flight surprising Mirk as he leaned back on the oddly comfortable couch, awaiting for further instructions.

Razaël remained absorbed in the clutter on his table, paying no attention to Mirk. In the tense silence, Mirk refrained from asking questions. Strangely, the quietude worked wonders for his throbbing head and side, nearly lulling him to sleep.

Just as Mirk was on the verge of dozing off, Razaël's calm voice jolted him awake.

"Will you tell me why you're limping?"

Mirk through he had done excellent job at concealing his pain. But apparently not as good as he had originally thought.

"Uhh—"

"Truth, please," Razaël interrupted, still focused on his writing, leaving Mirk unsure if he was genuinely writing or just pretending.

"Some assholes just ganged up on me, but you should see them." he said, holding his head higher to make it seem as though the idiotic humans had had it worse.

The scribbling sound stopped and the molten silver eyes were scanning him thoroughly. The attention made Mirk squirm uncomfortably, pretending as though he was making himself more comfortable on the couch.

"How bad is it?"

Mirk waved him off, snorting for the dramatic flare.

"It's fine, I'm tougher than you believe." he said, his earlier bashfulness turning into annoyance, fast.

Razaël rose from his seat, slowly walking around the table. Noting Mirk's tense shoulders and alert eyes, he leaned against the table, crossing his arms.

"I don't doubt it, Max." his voice was low, giving him more of a friendlier edge which was slightly unusual, "as your employer, it is my responsibility to make sure that my workers are well and cared for. And if they gain any injures, I need to know."

Mirk sank deeper into the couch, locking eyes with Razaël, refusing to back down.

He was fine.

"Max." there was a warning undertone in his voice and Mirk was forced to look away.

"I got stabbed." he mumbled into the collar of his shirt, glaring at the huge plant with pink blossoms that looked like dandelions.

"Come again?"

Mirk cleared his throat, clearly avoiding eye contact as Razaël slightly tilted his head, trying to catch his gaze.

"I got stabbed, sort of."

He pushed himself off the table so fast Mirk nearly jumped out of his skin. Eyes wide, he looked as frustration crossed the fae's face as he stomped closer, ignoring the obvious tension that returned to Mirk's form.

"Where, show me." he commanded, scanning Mirk's body as if he could see through the clothes.

"Fuck off."

"Max." the fae hissed, obviously distressed and looking almost frantic as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Mirk froze at the tone of his voice, gulping nervously as he simply tapped his outer thigh very lightly.

He flinched when Razaël towered over him, his hands hovering above his hip.

Mirk was stiff as a pole as he forced himself deeper into the cushions, holding his breath anxiously as he looked at the light glow that emitted from his open palms.

The relief was instant.

He closed his eyes, resting his head on the headrest as the soothing feeling travelled up his torso, healing the fractured ribs and sore bruises that littered his skin underneath the linen shirt.

His whole body relaxed involuntarily, the foreign magic chasing away the hurt.

His eyes snapped open in alarm when he felt gentle fingers brushing against his cheek. He tensedup, staring at Razaël's unblemished face that was too close for comfort. His stormy eyes were cold and lips pressed into thin line as he glared at the fading bruise on the side of Mirk's face.

"Don't move," Razaël growled, pressing his fingers gently against the bruised skin. The cooling magic washed over Mirk's face, but this time, it failed to relax him. The fae's proximity made him too anxious.

Razaël's fingers lingered for a moment too long, before he hooked them under Mirk's chin, tilting his head in different angles to scan his face thoroughly for bruises he might have missed.

The whole situation felt too foreign to Mirk, too intense. He refused to look at the fae, deciding to keep his eyes on anything else but him. So close, he could clearly smell the musky smell of sandalwood and peppermint, an odd yet pleasant scent that wafted over him in waves.

He felt torn, wishing to breathe it in more yet pull away and hit him square in the face for being so close.

Razaël sighed heavily, Mirk took it as a sign to inch away from him, pressing his body against the armrest. For some reason, his face felt heated and his throat was dry. He couldn't look at Razaël when he felt the couch sink as he sat down next to him.

He could have sat on the other side but he decided to sit in the middle, right next to Mirk.

"Why are you always bruised when I see you?"

He shrugged, his mind couldn't make up a coherent answer for the fae. It was just the way streets were, you either learn to live with it or allow it to kill you, no middle ground.

Another sigh left Razaël's lips when he was met with silence.

"I urge you to rethink your housing, there is a room for you here. A safe place. I assure you that my grounds are secure of danger, day and night." heaviness hung above his words, it was as though he was begging for Mirk to stay.

He cleared his throat before answering, "I'll think about it."

His answer was still going to be no in the end of the day.

"Good."

Mirk thrummed his fingers against the couch anxiously, eyes dancing from one spot to another.

"I'm curious, why don't you use your magic to heal yourself?" he asked, resting his elbows on his thighs and resting his head on his knuckles as he tried to gain Mirk's attention.

Mirk glanced at him nervously before looking away. Of course the fae could feel his magic thrumming beneath his skin. He felt like a fool, his mind clamping down in shame instead of answering. He couldn't lie and say he didn't have magic. Razaël was like a magical bloodhound.

"Max." he snapped his eyes up, clenching his jaw as his panic turned into bubbling anger.

Realization dawned in his face, making Mirk look away.

"You don't know how."

It was like a punch to his gut, he'd never said it out loud. He really wanted to hit Razaël in the face.

"Alright, I'm going to teach you."

"No." was his immediate response as he turned to glare at the fae who was still resting his chin on his knuckles, he seemed relaxed.

"It's not shameful to ask help."

"I'm not ashamed." he hissed, narrowing his eyes when a spark of amusement lit in those silver eyes.

"You will be taught how to use your magic, no need to waste your energy in arguing with me." he drawled out, leaning back as he stretched out his long legs, keeping eye contact the whole time as a teasing smile pulled at his lips.

"No."

"So defensive."

Before Mirk could spit out a curse, a light knock interrupted him. "Enter" the fae called out, still not taking his gaze off Mirk who looked towards the opening door.

A small woman scurried in, holding a tray with food in her dainty hands as she strolled over towards them and placed it gently on the table. The large bird flew off her shoulder, perching on the back of the enormous chair again.

Mirk's attention shifted immediately to the food – crusty whitebread with herb butter, scrambled eggs, and bacon. He didn't care about the amused snort as he grabbed the grilled bread with butter on it.

"Thank you Freydis."

The woman bowed and left the room. Mirk was eyeing the rest of the food, brushing off the crumbs that had fallen on his shirt.

"Go on, eat up." he patted Mirk's leg before raising from the couch and moving back behind his table, scratching the birds chin in a sign of gratitude.

Mirk inhaled the contents of the dish, with the headache gone and the anxious interaction before, he felt like he could eat a horse. Aside from Keldi, she had proven to be rather useful despite her habit if biting.

When everything was clean, he leaned back, body completely lax as he zoned in on Razaël who seemed to be scanning some important documents. With his attention solely on work, Mirk took advantage of it and studied him.

He had never dared to look for too long, so he used the time to really take in the sheer grace the fae emitted. He had always heard the rumours of fae's being the sole definition of beauty and grace, but before Razaël, he had never actually seen a full-blooded fae.

His skin had a healthy sheen to it, the silky royal blue tunic had no wrinkles nor stains on it, the only aspect of it making him seem a bit relaxed was the untied collar, showing a bit of his upper chest.

A strand of dark hair fell over his temple that he smoothly pushed back.

Mirk's eyes slowly fell shut, the full stomach and pain-free body making him drowsy as the sleep from the night before started creeping in. Before he knew it, his head slowly lulled against the headrest, half closed eyes still on the Grand Lord who had completely drowned in work.

The gentle shuffling of wings and scribbling of a quill lulled him into deep sleep.

The low hiss reverberated in Mirk's ears as he floated in the hazy realm of deep slumber. The warmth of the pillow beneath his head embraced him like a cocoon, and he nuzzled deeper, blissfully unaware of the conversation around him.

"If you wake him, I will order the removal of all coffee beans on our grounds." Razaël's voice was threatening, a low hum so quiet it got lost in the haze of sleep.

"Relax, darling. The little brat is out like a light it seems." Kian's voice was almost like a whisper, the couch dipped.

Despite the voices, Mirk remained immersed in the comforting embrace of sleep. His legs were shifted, perhaps for more comfort, but he paid it no mind. However, Kian's exclamation pulled him slightly back to consciousness.

"Holy gods and goodesses!" Kian said, earning a shush from the fae.

"He reeks of mead." Kian sounded disapproving as he adjusted Mirk's legs on his lap gently.

"You think I don't know?"

Razaël asked drily, the sound of him flicking pages a comforting sound to Mirk's ears. The silence that followed almost pulled him completely under again, but the low murmurs didn't allow him to succumb to the dreamlands.

"He was bruised up again."

"What?"

A heavy sigh sounded too loud in otherwise quiet room. Even the flicking of pages had stopped.

"He didn't tell me," a tinge of hurt lingered in his voice.

"Oh he's gonna tell us when he wakes up." Kian mumbled, the sound of shuffling feathers making Mirk more conscious of his surroundings.

He was laying on the couch, a soft pillow under his head and a heavy blanket pulled up to his neck, his nose buried in the softness.

"Don't push him, Ki."

"You and I both know it's Deimos you have to worry about, not me." the clenching of fingers made Mirk realize that his legs were resting on Kian's lap, his one hand was resting atop his calf while the other was resting something atop him, a book most likely.

He pushed down the urge to pull his legs back and kick his feet between his eyes.

He was also cursing himself mentally for falling asleep and making himself vulnerable. But he was too curious for his own good, so he forced himself to keep on breathing deeply, his posture completely relaxed.

"I know, I will be needing your help."

Kian's voice was soft when he answered, "of course,". The silence didn't last long as Kian continued.

"Have you managed to figure out what the little brat is made up of?" the question nearly made his breath hitch, but he forced his soft, nearly silent snores to remain constant.

"No, but there is magic in him, that we do know. However, he doesn't yet know how to wield it."

The silence almost forced him to open his eyes, march up to the fae and claw his eyes out for not being able to hold his tongue.

"Oh." Kian's thumb rubbed his calf slowly as if trying to soothe Mirk or himself.

"Yeah, I admit, I feel foolish for not having thought of it."

Were they trying to make him look pathetic? Kian's grip tightened.

"He's staying with us." it was the first time Kian had sounded so serious, there was usually a teasing undertone to everything he said.

"We cannot force him, Ki."

"Watch me."

Their interaction confused him, what did it matter to them? He couldn't imagine them coddling Galahad after a heavy hangover and a stupid scratch from a tavern fight.

"Not everything can be handled with sheer strength and dominance." he could hear a hint of a smile in his words.

"I disagree, everything can be handled with a graceful domineering presence." the usual playfulness had turned to his voice. Mirk was just glad they weren't discussing his useless magic anymore.

"On another note, I will be taking over with his studies."

Mirk cussed the fae in his mind, vowing to be a real pain in his ass for bringing the topic up again.

"Good, if you need any help, let me know."

"No, no, no. You will be keeping far away from our studies."

Mirk had had enough, but since he wasn't completely sure how to announce him waking up, he simply opened this eyes.

He hadn't expect his eyelids to be so glued together with sleep it took him a moment, and even then they were mostly closed.

"Why? I'd make an excellent teacher!"

He blinked groggily, zeroing in on the man on the other end of the couch.

"Not in this case you wouldn't. You and I both know it."

Kian held a mug in one hand, the other still gripping Mirk's calf, his thumb making slow, comforting circles. However, Mirk's attention shifted to Kian's attire.

It was a very thin, silky, red morning robe that was untied from the front, showcasing his muscled chest. The red robe was covered in tiny silhouettes of a black dragon, seemingly painted on the fabric. 

Mirk wasn't completely sure at what was going on.

"Fine, but can I at least watch?" Kian whined, pulling Mirk's legs closer to his body as if wanting a cuddle.

"No."

Mirk continued staring at the man cradling his legs as if he had sprouted a second head.

"You're no fun." Kian grumbled, taking a sip of his hot drink. His gaze slid over to Mirk, widening slightly as he noticed him awake. He lowered his mug, lips curling into his signature feline smile.

"Hello there, had a good rest?"

A slow blink served as the only warning before Mirk pulled his legs off Kian's lap, instinctively kicking him in the gut before sitting up properly.

Kian grunted, holding his mug away from the couch awkwardly to make sure it wouldn't spill.

"You had it coming..." Razaël said quietly, eyeing both of them.

A fluff pillow had been placed under his head, a soft, silky blanket covering his whole body. He was slightly star struck of the material, definitely not the rough, scratchy one he had back at home. He felt slightly drowsy as he turned towards Kian who bad stopped being dramatic, instead he had thrown one hand behind the headrest, spreading his knees and taking up as much space as possible. His time had fallen open a bit more, showing off the naked torso and high-waisted, flowy pants that were the same color and material as the robe. Mirk had never seen anything like it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mirk croaked, his voice thick with sleep. Wincing, he realized he hadn't known the depth of his sleep; it felt like he had been unconscious for a week.

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine." he slouched the drink around his mug and Mirk decided to turn to Razaël, a question gleam in his eyes. Why had he allowed him to fall asleep? Wasn't Mirk supposed to work?

"why was asleep?" Mirk stifled a yawn, scratching the back of his head, feeling rested but groggy.

"Why wouldn't you be sleeping?" Razaël asked instead.

"I might not be as educated as you lot, but even I know sleeping on the job is frowned upon."

He yawned, throwing the blanket next to him, making a small barrier between him and Kian. He couldn't help but notice the pillow had smelled of Razaël.

"You were injured, Max. We do care about our employees. But if you're so eager to get to work, I'm not stopping you. However, before you do I request you have a bath and then a lunch with us."

Wrinkling his nose, Mirk realized he must be stinking. Kian shot up, grinning and brushing his red hair out of his eyes.

"Come along now, Maxie. Lets wash the dirt off your adorable face." he drawled, standing back before Mirk could kick him with his foot again.

He was convinced this sort of behaviour was crossing all sorts of high class norms and was considered more than rude, but the man was seriously infuriating. Razaël scowled at them.

"Kian, don't forget what we talked about, please. And Max? Refrain from lashing out, I cannot allow you to keep on hitting Kian."

"Yes, Raz." Kian said impatiently. The silver eyes landed on Mirk who still looked half-asleep.

"Max." there was a warning undertone to his voice, making Mirk realize he was waiting for a response.

"Uh, yeah, no hitting, understood." Kian snickered, earning a glare.

"Good boy, now follow Kian, he'll show you to the bathing area."

Mirk nodded, as if in trance as he pushed himself off the couch, dragging his feet as he moved towards Kian who was leanings against the wall.

"You're adorable when you're tired." If Razaël weren't seated behind his table, Mirk might have delivered a punch to Kian's face. Instead, he mustered his most deadly glare and walked out of the door Kian opened.

The hallways were deserted, and Mirk couldn't shake off his surprise at Kian strolling around half-naked. Wasn't it considered scandalous for the high class?

He flinched as Kian leaned in closer, the sudden proximity jolting him awake, urging him to escape.

"For the record, you have my full permission to lash out at me whenever you want," Kian whispered, pulling back with a wink at Mirk's stunned expression.

The shock turned into a glare as Kian gestured for him to keep on following him.

"Asshole."

"I heard that."

"That was the whole point of me saying it."

"Manners aren't your strongest suit, but worry not, I'm excellent at correcting behaviour" Mirk couldn't help but feel like the true meaning of what he was saying went way over his head.

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